Long Popularity Poems
Long Popularity Poems. Below are the most popular long Popularity by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Popularity poems by poem length and keyword.
Hello, my name is Service
I am happy to help you today.
Please don’t take advantage of me because,
I am not inferior to you.
Hello, my name is Joy.
Don’t confuse me with Happy.
My strength is inner content
No matter what my emotions show.
Hello, my name is Inner Peace,
And I am what you want to find.
I am not surface deep or even shallow.
My veins feed the heart and soul.
Hello, my name is Every Lie You Were Ever Told
And yes, I have many faces,
Many fronts for you to see.
I have a great costume called Truth,
And another costume called Acceptance.
When I show up my favorite first front is Popularity
But call me out and I will name you a Conspiracy Theorist.
I will rally against you
And guilt is my favorite card to play.
Hello, my name is Wisdom
I am your helper and your friend,
But I only come when you let me.
I will not be where I am not wanted.
I will not come where I am not called.
My strength is in experience
That makes me different from the rest.
If you choose to use me
That is great by me
I will use the past to guide you through the present
And call out the lies you were told
Stick with me beside you
Because I will guide you.
Here and now is all we have
A chance to tear, a chance to laugh
Reach out for something more to grasp
At times I could dream upon quiet nights
A happy home,
Hot chocolate and faded porch lights
Don’t cry your tears
For they’ll only fade with tomorrow
As time leaks, truth speaks
Come eye to eye with romance
A new face to meet
So many peers around me
Even out in the clear troubles surround me
Please, don’t cry your tears
For they will only fade with tomorrow
My hours consist of mislead love
Late night clubs
A few warm hugs,
A couple of lonely shoulders with shrugs
My peers say there’s nothing I couldn’t conquer
Yet my popularity allows loneliness to ware on me
Never could defeat my guilty conscience
For now it only cares to own me
But don’t cry your tears
For they’ll only fade with tomorrow
So much pressure consumes this life of mine
Then again,
There I go being selfish and wasting our time
I’m wading through the world’s insanity
Yet I’m lost in my own misery
Stranded tears of thee
Would any of you care to see
Please don’t cry your tears,
For they will only fade with tomorrow
I’m so desperate to live long
So hard to carry on, when nobody loves you
I’m curious,
Over the edge are they eager to shove me
Say grace from above me
Pick me up, dust me off, and hug me
In reality it’s alright to dream
But above life it’s broken schemes
It is not for your physique
It is not for your intelligence
It is not for your charm
It is not for your wealth
It is not for your charisma
It is not for your fantasies
It is not for your energy
It is not for your profundity
It is not for your popularity
It is not for your self esteem
It is not for your compassion
It is not for your ideologies
It is not for your beliefs
It is not for your religion
That you are loved
It is only when these attributes
and the thousands more that drive them
are stripped away
that the Real you shines through
the cracked mold of flesh and blood
that walled you from eternity
and robbed you of your Peace
Illusion©
Every once in a while laying in bed
My mind wanders
To places I have never been before
Time, events and places
Previously unknown
Appear in the mirror of my mind
It is though I can touch them
The experiences are so real
The smells, sights and sounds vivid
I can hear a pin drop
In the forest of my mind
Which suddenly has clarity
No longer filled with doubt
Or worry nor angst
Confidence is the order of the day
My popularity skyrocketing
Work immensely gratifying
Relationships rock solid
And therein lies the illusion
For in the empty shell of my life
None of these exist
Andreas Simic©
I Asked Myself A Rhetorical Question...
Asper daily expounding fostering
inchoate manifesting mod
er writ writing quality,
solitary scrimmage tackling
undertaking, yielding whir
ring, sputtering, kickstarting, and
buzz-feeding at competitive, communal
crowed did metaphorical trough,
where household named author's
top New York Times best seller
tier, overshadowing under
rated genre bending, breakout aspiring,
story board qualifying,
opportunistic newbie man
use script artful dodgers
mere dust collecting drafts,
anticipating to stir infectious interest
incumbent - at mercy,
tripwire activating quint
essential key, which anchors print
ting projected uncertain
popularity first edition,
awakening, guiding, nosing
asymptote analogy steering
reader toward nascent
scribe, where paper
back writer wannabe,
toils away incorporating subtle
(hook, line and sinker) techniques,
(albeit apropos literary
ploys, a true test tum ment,
viz sophisticated gambits
to massage late tint
prestidigitation abra ca dab rah,
sine non qua cogent
see kant, and tangent triggers
modest mien fortified, exemplified,
and downplayed akin
to unassuming Clark Kent
in his cape ably nonchalant
transformation into superman,
and/or more pointedly,
some original heft leant
to set apart striking
poignant implement
exhibited by aspiring
writer daily revising,
albeit gal or gent
his/her uniquely obscure
trademark, but
eventually keen agent
assays non-boastful writing style
im prim mature print,
sans unassuming swiftly tailored
harried style seduces seek
curing sincere overnight reverent,
well deserved kudos
comically marveling
at thee most im portent
salient strengths, per
hops hue moored opulent
quality instigates
affinity toward nascent,
bar riddle be, bill leading,
bud ding scrivener,
not necessary alluding
to a hypothetical outlier
thus, any similarity between the
above statement and
a living person perchance named
Matthew Scott Harris
purely coincidental.
As a daytime vampire, you achieved great popularity.
Your acting skills have displayed your awesome versatility.
Each afternoon, I ran home from school to see you on TV.
The producer of the show would also bring forth a movie.
In your same role, you would wreak havoc in the community.
In Collinsport, Maine, you were pursuing a girl named Maggie.
She would resemble Josette, whom you were supposed to marry.
Such an unfortunate vampire; we saw you playing the part
of a night creature we would love to pound a stake in your heart!
At first, we all thought you were evil, but you were very good.
You assumed the person of a descendent of Collinwood.
When you were freed from your chained coffin in a mausoleum,
you dwelled among your living relatives as a conundrum.
You would go after the throats of your American cousins.
Who would need Count Dracula when we’ve got Barnabas Collins?
Each day, we would see you get into a new predicament.
For several years, you provided us with great entertainment.
When I was young, a book was given me:
a small book with the title "Those Who Love."
Its female author I knew nothing of -
This dreamer poetess wrote beautifully.
Gentle, practical and solitary,
Sara was in love with nature and
understood the things in life most grand;
this dreamer poetess wrote beautifully!
She’d grown up reading poems of Emily,
Barrett Browning, Bronte and Rossetti.
A modern woman, wishing to be free -
this dreamer poetess wrote beautifully.
Her writing had a lyric quality.
I loved her metaphors and similies.
I sensed within her poems - untold stories.
This dreamer poetess wrote beautifully.
Her poems were crafted with lucidity,
for poetry confusing she’d not do.
Her type of writing influenced mine too.
This dreamer poetess wrote beautifully.
A love impossible she fittingly
portrayed, for “contradiction” was her life.
Conflicted, she could not remain a wife.
This dreamer poetess wrote beautifully.
She’d known a time of popularity:
A Pulitzer for "Love Songs" she received.
Then came her father’s death and how she grieved.
This dreamer poetess wrote beautifully.
Depressed and frail, she planned her destiny,
requesting notes to loved ones all be burned.
We cannot truly know for what she yearned.
This dreamer poetess wrote beautifully.
Did Sara Teasdale end her misery
when she put herself to sleep? Who can say?
Regardless. . . I shall think of her one way:
This dreamer poetess wrote beautifully!
Written 11/14/10
Still hope we can cope
With the nope
Don’t give a damn plan
From that Tandoori tan
Obscene Tangerine dope
Jackanory Mandarin Man
That trope..like to be Pope
Go out on a limb..got the vim..scope
To make him of the grim...dim..whim..mope
Just give Mr Grope enough Rope
Opined women..a frump
If they mind.. some bump & grind
Half inching while pinching their rump
The darkness descends
Besotted with anything cosseted
Rotted or garrotted by design
But sign on the dotted line
Raise a 'Stein" of wine
Knaves..slaves.. saved
From the craze & blaze
Of this moral maze & haze
Extinguished by depraved waves
From distinguished graves
Denies his demise is nigh
Popularity sky high he lies
Bliss as the remiss abyss
Of hiss and diss ends
Thanks to a sly bit of
Wry Fab Four rapport
No not you say hello...but yes I say goodbye
Off with his head the French might have said
Cos we've read we'll get by instead
With a little help from his (dead) friends
THREE IN ONE
Fortified towering walls surround
persons running through and fro
stature small and little feeble
only a fig tree available for him
yet, he ran too.
Fast!
climbing the tree with all his might
just to have a glimpse of this
wonderful man: our God- Jesus Christ..
who in thousand sunsets and thousand sunrises
succeeded to win hearts and disciples...
Walking upon seesaw waves
He invited him
Unafraid, He silence the raging storm
He appease them
calming the wandering spirit
He embraces each one with light
Engulfing beyond approach
outlasting borders reproach
His popularity a thousand years
His million miles echo healing aches
a soothing breeze resurrecting hope
yet, some were threatened
scared to be thundered
as cornerstones
He shook and changed
mistaken fate and faith bender
They took Him.
Placed Him in trial
Flicking hurt - Inflicting pain.
Lashing jolts of torture down to the bone.
Each bang of the axe nailing Him tight.
So excruciating
allowing helplessly stairs of His death.
Lifted high after the third day.
Blooming sun, welcomed His life back.
As cloud carpet and choir of angels
enthroned Him high.
Leaving His Holy Spirit behind.
His Holy Spirit present
each daylight smile and nightfall frown
waiting. waiting. waiting for us - people.
Our God whose presence is present everywhere.
Recognizable in the most natural flower.
Bathing us strength through tornado of trials.
Showering us honey warmth happy sunbeams.
A seedling green leaf in a rocky dry mountain.
The trembling notes folded within rhymes and psalms.
The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit in one.
(c) Olive Eloisa
4:44pm
July 30, 2014
CONTEST NAME: GOD
SPONSOR: REGINA RIDDLE
first place, to God be always the glory..:)
" One man's junk is another man's treasure" - author unknown
To some, old collectables and antiques are nothing but junk,
even heirlooms kept safely in their grandmother’s old trunk.
They say antiques sales are diminishing and not as popular today,
but I believe antique collecting is still an interest and here to stay.
It’s fun to go antiquing on the weekends for old forgotten treasures,
buying trinkets to discover their provenances by researched measures.
Exciting to imagine the energy and stories the antiques may hold,
and delightful when finding collections of history so rare and old.
An old empty apothecary bottle that once held medicine to treat the flu,
or helped saved the life of a sick family's toddler when he was only two.
The old handmade quilts and lace doilies that are now dull and faded,
some kept as cherished family gifts and some bartered and traded.
The beautiful Currier and Ives fruit print I found today for sale,
with foxing and colors not as vibrant and some getting pale.
I wonder the story it holds, was it in a mansion or a small home,
displayed as a collection of art or in a shack on the wall alone?
Garage sales are popular places today to find antiques and old junk,
seeing the large number of people who stop can’t be debunked.
Antique collecting is here to stay and will regain popularity,
and still exciting when finding a treasure that is a known rarity!
3/4/23
Contest: Writing Challenge -" J " words Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France